


The Memory of You

by Serendipintea



Series: Female Stiles Stilinski [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, F/M, Memory Loss, Referenced PTSD, season 1 rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipintea/pseuds/Serendipintea
Summary: Victim of Memory loss Mieczysława ‘Stiles’ Stilinski finds herself on a perilous journey to regain her memories and stop the seemingly supernatural forces that are creating havoc in her town. When she overhears her boss, Alan Deaton, talking to a mysterious figure about the ‘Hale’s’ a memory of angry flames and a cacophony of screams draws the realization that she not only knew about the Hale fire… she was there. Thus Stiles embarks on a journey of turmoil, heartbreak, and suspicion with twists at every turn to regain all her memories, even if it means betraying her father for the handsome stranger she stumbled upon in the woods. Peter Hale knows her and has answers she needs, answers she’ll get, even if she has to rip through every corrupt hunter that comes after them.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Female Stiles Stilinski [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539316
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87
Collections: Steter_love





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would expect slow, _slow_ updates on this story, otherwise... enjoy!

Stiles Stilinski was not your most put-together teenager, nor was she so scatterbrained that forgot things often. She wasn’t irresponsible - she always arrived early to her part-time job with Dr. Deaton in his vet clinic - and her studies habits had clearly improved. None of this had to do with the fact that she left her jacket in Dr. Deaton’s office; her short term memory loss had officially been laid to rest since her car accident so even that excuse was no longer useable, but it was all these reasons that she suddenly found herself thinking up as she trekked back to the stalling car as the driver waited for her. Stiles Stilinski was not a forgetful girl… not anymore, but there were large portions of her memory that  _ were _ missing, pieces she hadn’t been aware of…  _ until now _ . 

“Stiles?” she blinked her haze of thoughts away and smiled warmly at the redhead, hazel green eyes wide in expectation. 

“Got it, sorry about that Lyds.” Lydia Martin, Queen bee of Beacon Hills HIgh school and Stiles’s best friend, rolled her eyes and pulled the car out of park. “So,” she had time to think about the minor revelation she faced in Dr. Deaton’s office later, now she was focusing on Lydia and how their new school year was about to start. “Are you going to try that mentorship program you were talking about?” 

“It would look good on my transcripts,” she sniffed, “Though I haven’t decided what I want to major in yet.” then, with a smile and a slick side-eye to Stiles. “What about you, little Ms. FBI, what are you planning?”

“I don’t know where you keep getting the FBI thing,” Stiles laughed, unseeing but feeling the way her friend stiffened at her call out. “I guess I wanted to be FBI before, but now I’m honestly not sure.” she shrugged and traced the scar along her hairline with calloused fingers. “I forgot a lot, it seems like I forgot my dreams for the future too.” 

“Stiles-” her tone was softer, if not a tad guilty. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. The Doctor said my memories  _ could _ come back, we just can’t afford a proper therapist right now.” though she did mourn the person she was Stiles had never thought that she had been someone different. She had thought that everything was pretty much the same - now without Roscoe as the jeep had been woefully impounded upon her wreck - and she never had any reason to doubt that reality. Lydia was a good friend, sure she was girly and at times Stiles felt restless, but she was teaching Stiles how to walk in heels and trying to convince her of the beauty that was makeup. 

Makeup never worked to hide her moles and, to her opinion, always make her face look spongy. She was pale, too, not fair like most people desired, but well and truly pale despite how much sun she got. Thanks to Lydia she knew how to hide her black eyes through concealer and highlights - which became indispensable knowledge when she didn’t want her father to know she’d spent yet another night in a terror induced wake. Lydia Martin was the perfect example of a girl, what with her flowy pretty clothes, well-kempt hair and always perfect makeup. Stiles was her exact opposite in that sense, what with her oversized overalls that were obviously her fathers, plaid shirts, and overall muted attire. Lydia had bought her very first pair of heels and her first everyday dress - Stiles had worn it once and then refused to ever do so again, you couldn’t sit with spread legs in a dress and that day  _ everyone _ had been looking at her. Among every other example of how much of an opposite she was to Lydia Martin - aside from the fact that they were, quite literally, almost visual opposite, Lydia with her red hair and dark eyes and Stiles with her dark hair and light brown eyes - was that Stiles’s hair was some kind of hellspawn of curly hair that wasn’t actually  _ curly _ and thick hair that decided it liked  _ eating _ brushes instead of being coveted by them. 

Because of this she often had her hair in a ponytail, down and wild, or in a bun. She was a tomboy and she was okay with that. 

“Looks like Jackson and Danny are already here.” here being at Lydia’s family Lakehouse. It was the hub for many a party, thankfully tonight was not one of those nights. The four of them were going to start studying for the PSAT’s that way they’d all get relatively good grades for the October SAT. 

“Hey babe,” Jackson greeted Lydia without so much as looking towards Stiles. 

“Hey babe,” Stiles greeted Danny, much to his reluctant chagrin. “Guess were breaking up then.” 

“It’s not you, I’m gay.” he replied very softly, mock sorrow in his tone. 

“Ah, you know what they say about all the good men.” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side, grinning companionably as Jackson and Lydia made out.

“That they’re all taken or Gay?” he winked when she nodded, “I’m hoping the latter proves true.” and thus this group of three was what made Stiles’s circle of friends - though Jackson might not actually be considered such. He barely tolerated her presence at times and always seemed like he was on the verge of telling her something only to back out at the last minute. During the study session he barely even looked over at her, the few times he had to speak to her it was always biting and hateful. She never asked what she had done to Jackson, in truth she figured it had been something before her memory loss, and instead chose to bore his anger without question or goading. He was angry, she didn’t know why, but she didn’t think it was completely directed at her.

It was only in the quiet of her front yard as she waved goodbye to Lydia’s retreating car that she truly got to focus on the slight revelation she had faced in the clinic. 

  
“Okay, Stilinski, you know what the forum said, write the events down, talk them out, don’t just get lost in thought.” She didn’t give much thought to how empty the house filled as she ascended up the stairs and fluidly grabbed the notebook and a pen from her desk drawer. “Okay,” a deep, centering sigh with pen poised over unmarred paper, “I forgot my jacket, that’s what kind of started this whole mess. Start there-” a small nod of encouragement to herself, “Dr. Deaton, my veterinarian boss, was talking with some woman in the back room about a fire.” pen scratched against paper even if the ink flowed smoothly, “I was going to ignore it at first because it didn’t seem interesting, just casual discussion about property damage by a massive fire. I’d hear about it on the news later, no need to eavesdrop on my boss who works on animals talking about it. But then-” 

Then she had mentioned the  _ Hale’s _ and Stiles had found herself frozen. 

_ “There is no proof that the Hale’s actually died that day, Alan. No bodies were found, just dust and ash.”  _ Just dust and ash? The fire had to be at least 1000 degrees Fahrenheit to burn bone, not only that but they’d have to burn for  _ at least _ two hours, then there was the problem with ash, not enough for the supposed eleven that were killed  _ and- _

And  _ how _ did she know this?! 

With a gasp of pain and a throbbing skull from an oncoming migraine Stiles drew away from the desk and pressed hard against the base of her neck. It  _ had _ to be a memory but - but why would she know about something so morbid as that? Why did it feel like it was important information for her to remember, and  _ why _ was she seeing black smoke against blue wallpaper each time she closed her eyes? 

No, no she needed to calm down and assess. The doctor had said that she  _ may _ recover some memories, but not to expect it. Sure, she hadn’t expected a memory about knowing of how long it takes for a body to burn to ash but that’s what she had gotten. The smoke and wallpaper, too, maybe she had been involved in a fire when she was little and, for some reason, researched the morbid outcome of what could’ve happened to her? 

If only her father were home right then so he could confirm or deny this theory. 

A sudden, weary loneliness settled deep in her tissue as she surveyed her room. She knew that she wouldn’t hear any other indication of another being in their house even if she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. It had been almost a full year since her memory loss and in that time she never once felt alone. She sometimes wished it - especially when she was relearning the curriculum before the end of her freshman year and just  _ barely _ passing. Still the house had never felt so… empty, so cold, as if there was a pitch-black darkness creeping like a liquid at the corners of the home, unable to swallow her whole because of the dim light of her room. 

If she turned the light off would she be swallowed up? 

It didn’t matter, the first day of Junior year was tomorrow. Stiles needed rest, there wasn’t much she could do about it all tonight. She couldn’t call her dad, not yet, and she sure as shit couldn’t call Lydia because she would definitely be asleep or screwing Jackson right now. So sleep, that was the only genuine response her body should have had. 

Sleep is not the outcome her brain decided on. Instead of lulling into dreamland about what adventures awaited her in her junior year her traitorous brain decided to feel threatened.  _ In her own home _ . Almost as if the dark loneliness really was tangible and truly would swallow her whole. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, not entirely, but what  _ lie _ in the dark? The cold acceptance, the soft surrender?  _ That _ was what scared her, what filled her with nervous anticipation. 

Stiles was a curious creature, or so she’d like to think - she sure as shit tried to absorb any and every form of information she could when she had woken up remembering nothing.  _ ‘I’ve not learned everything I could,’ _ she reasoned as her eyes drew shut and she replayed the scene of smoke and cobalt blue wallpaper. The smoke was thick and black, curling like a python around her, but the wallpaper seemed untarnished. 

Then it  _ moved _ , darkened, and a hole appeared in the center, as if punched through, and that wallpaper turned into an  _ eye _ . The smoke curled around the face that was quickly forming, keeping the features of whoever was holding her from her full sight. It made sense in a way, no sane person would have such a bare blue wall. That, however, was where the sense stopped, and war drums started beating through her ears like goodbyes for the departed. They echoed through her body - an admittedly small one, so she was clearly young in this particular… imagining? Memory? - and rocked her against a solid, wide chest. 

War drums, a fitting likeness to the heartbeat that pounded angrily beneath her tiny, sore hands and the fury/fear/fluster that clogged her eyes and mouth. Something bad was happening, something evil and  _ life-changing _ , and then the man was moving, clutching her tight against his chest. She was suffocating, choking and she couldn’t breathe but not because of her face pressed into the soft material of his shirt, the smoke was too thick and the tears were - tears? She was crying, but she didn’t feel scared, she felt… sad. Almost irreparably so, as if she had just lost a great deal. 

She really  _ had  _ been in a house fire when she was little! Why, then, was this particular memory only retrieved when she had heard about the Hales? Had she - had she been in  _ their _ home when it was set aflame? 

_ “Mieczysława,”  _ it was mouthed against her temple in a voice unheard over the roaring of flames and war drums. “ _ Mieczysława,” _ louder this time, barely a whisper over the chaos around them. 

_ “Stiles!” _ her scream was ungodly high pitched and had been wrenched from her throat. Her heartbeat frantically against her ribcage, adrenaline kept her slightly delirious when she looked around the expanse of her room and found her dad leaning over her - she must’ve fallen out of bed - with concern pinching his features. “You okay?”

“I - uh, yeah.” she must’ve fallen asleep after all, “dad can I-” holy shit but her lips and mouth were dry as shit. Her skin felt really hot too, as if she’d been sunburned and had to peel away the -

“Stiles!” another small jump was wrenched from her thanks to her alarm. “What’s going on, baby girl?” 

“Had any of our houses caught fire when I was younger?” she was sweaty, like completely fucking soaked and - ugh, her bed was too, gross. “Or in a house fire? I think I just remembered-” 

“No,” he cut her off with a vehemence that seemed to surprise them both, “No, you were never in a house fire.” then, carefully and without looking at her “It was just a dream, Stiles.” Stiles might have lost a good portion of her memories but one thing she knew, without a sliver of a doubt, was her fathers’ tells. They weren’t obvious, like a muscle tick or a grinding of his teeth, but the way his left shoulder became imperceptibly still was just subtle enough to go unnoticed by anyone not looking. Her father was lying to her, either about it being a dream, about her being in a house fire, or both she wasn’t sure. 

Whatever the reason she certainly couldn’t look into it or give any more thought to so long as he suspected her of knowing his lies. 

“Okay, I was watching a documentary on Serial Killers before I went to bed, so that’s probably why my brain went all morbid.” his shoulder relaxed but his eyes did not, “I gotta throw my whole bed in the wash now though, you heading off to work?” he helped her rise with a grin, morning fixed. She threw her sheets in the wash, he made coffee and went to work, Stiles took a shower and went to school. 

No more thought given to the strange set of events in the face of the first day of Junior year. Riding the bus wasn’t bad and, even if she had gotten her license back, she still wasn’t given the all clear to go back to driving just yet. She was nearing eighteen for fuck's sake and,  _ yes _ , they could argue that the only reason she got her actual license so fast was that she had been green-lighted, but she only had her license for four months before the car wreck. 

“Your hair is still wet,” was her greeting via Lydia the  _ moment _ she stepped off the bus. “And you did  _ not _ use the products we bought.” 

“Yes, hello to you too Lydia. Did you sleep well? Yes? Oh, that’s great, I’m hungry so I’m going to get breakfast, would you like some? Yes again? Oh, how awesome.” Lydia grinned despite herself and looped her arm through Stiles’s, leading them both to the cafeteria so they could grab a quick breakfast before classes. 

It was a regular school day, each class gave a syllabus that  _ no one _ would look at again all school year, the teachers - three new this year (strange, but okay), oh and everyone kept  _ looking _ at her. She had thought she would get used to everyone watching her - they’d started doing it the first time Lydia had introduced herself to Stiles and told her they were friends ( _ Stiles had thought she’d been lying from the way people were watching them but quickly shook that awful thought away because wherever Lydia went people  _ **_watched_ ** _ , she was just collateral) _ \- but now it was like they were staring at her in expectation. 

  
It wasn’t just a select group of people either, it would’ve been too easy to ignore if it had been. It was as if the entire school populus was watching her - she was fairly fucking certain that even Mr. Harris was being especially testing with her, as if he were trying to gauge if she really lost her memories. 

“Okay, I’m glad he’s not like my official teacher or anything, but he’s the one who’s pretty much going to be in charge of my free period.” to her credit Lydia seemed genuinely apologetic for that particular torture. “Coach will let me run during free time, especially since I’m not going back to lacrosse.” 

“Yeah, I’m fairly certain you don’t have a choice in that matter. Your dad pretty much told the entire staff that another head injury could possibly kill you.” 

“Well that’s just a gross over-exaggeration.” the snort her friend gave at that was not very ladylike at all,  _ Stiles loved it _ . Lydia was smart as hell but - for some strange ass reason that Stiles wasn’t privy to - liked to hide that intellect behind her perfect hair and outstanding socialite behavior. “Hey, Lyds,” Lydia was smart as hell, but she was also her friend and would know the truth. “Have I ever been in a house fire?”

Stiles wasn’t honestly sure  _ what _ she had been expecting, but it certainly had not been her best friend freezing up as her father had. Lydia was better at recovering than her father though and if Stiles hadn’t been looking at her at the time she would’ve missed the reaction. She was certain now that she had been in a fire and from the reactions of both Lydia and her father she was just as certain that she had been in  _ the _ fire. 

“Not that I know of,” a lie, she was lying, but she was being careful about it. Still, she was lying and it brought with it a pang of irritation and hurt. Why were they lying to her, what was there to lie about? There really was no true reason for them to lie about something like that, especially if it meant her memories were coming back to her! That’s what they wanted, right, that’s what everyone wanted?

“Alright, must’ve just been a bad dream then.” They were lying to her and she had full intention of finding out  _ why _ . They were lying to her and Stiles couldn’t find a single reason as to why they would.

By the end of the day she was agitated. That agitation gave weight to frustration which built her adrenaline which meant that she was currently busting her  _ ass  _ at practice. She gave Danny a run for his money for the first half but then lost him, the only one sticking with her - a little ahead of her actually - was Jackson. He seemed agitated as well but, strangely enough, not at her, because he was pushing with little grunts of anger and curses. 

It’s as she’s noticing just how fucking powerful Jackson is that she feels a set of eyes on her. Someone had caught up, no big deal. 

Except they didn’t feel like they were watching her from behind, she felt their gaze -  _ gazes  _ as it quickly morphed from one to two - on her sides and front, sweeping over her with a burning intensity that felt  _ wrong _ . It didn’t feel like they were moving with her either it… it almost felt like she wasn't moving at all. She  _ knew _ she was, the scenery was passing by and Jackson was steadily getting just a bit further ahead of her, but it felt like it was all fake. 

All too soon her huffs and gasps for breath became shrill in her ears, the crunch of twigs and dirt underneath her shoes was like the snapping of bone. No insects, no birds chirping,  _ danger.  _

  
“J-Jac-!” something was wrong,  _ Many animals, especially birds, will get quiet or just leave the area when a predator is there.  _ Could it be a mountain lion? They normally avoided humans though and hunted other prey, why-

Why,  _ how  _ did she know that?! This was wrong,  _ something _ was wrong and Jackson couldn’t hear her. What if it really was a mountain lion and either she or Jackson were going to be a fresh meal? But the multiple gazes - Mountain lions don’t hunt in packs and there were no Wolves in this area of California so what-

“Nonono” she begged when she felt something at her heels, chasing her. Looking back would cause her to go slower, going slower would mean that she would be taking the danger at her heels closer to the rest of the cross country team, going any faster would bring it right to Jackson - and honestly she didn’t think she could go all that much faster. Before she realized what she was doing Stiles was veering off, deeper into the preserve. 

It didn’t register to her that this could very well be the action that signed her death warrant, her very probable death wasn’t even a factor of her thoughts and that… that should’ve been a warning sign. The other warning sign should’ve been the way her terror was draining into sheer adrenaline and determination.  _ Hit the nose, jab the eyes, guard your throat _ , her thoughts echoed,  _ and do  _ **_not_ ** _ climb up a tree _ .

One blink, the noise of her slowly calming gasps and thundering heartbeat began to bleed into white noise. Two blinks and her sweat cooled on her skin, giving way to just how much air was rushing past her in her sprint. Three and she broke into a clearing, one final blink and the sunlight had dimmed.

The next she was no longer running - a worrisome thought on its own - and instead was in the front seat of a car she didn’t remember.  _ Roscoe _ , her brain supplied as they sped down a road. Whatever this was - illusion, memory, or death that was greeting her - they were still running from something, leading it away from town. The same unwavering gaze was still there, but this time she could  _ see _ the glint of golden yellow in her rearview mirror. Not a mountain lion then, something far bigger - either six feet on all fours or  _ humanoid _ . 

One blink and the eyes were gone. Two and she felt a calm, accepting chill enter her system - something bad was about to happen to her. Three, her driver side door was ripped off of Roscoe and thrown somewhere, exposing the scaled lizard  _ human _ thing as it perched itself over the opening her door presented, hissing murderously at her. One final one and a long tail was shooting forward at her skull, Stiles stomped on the breaks, everything went black.

Through that bled light in single spots,  _ kind of like gunshots through the wall of a darkened room _ , and color faded into being. She was back in the middle of the lacrosse field with the rest of the team, drenched in sweat and facing towards the school as if she were expecting someone to come at her. 

“Hey, you okay?”  _ she knew that voice- _

“Yeah Scotty, I’m peachy.”  _ Scotty? Who the actual fuck was- _ Scott McCall stood frozen beside her, eyes wide and gaping. “Sorry,” did she, no,  _ had  _ she known him? “I - uh, I dunno where that came from. Were we - well that’ll sound cruel but were we friends?”

“It’s okay,” she could practically taste his despair and the way he tried to hide it. “We work together, well, we work for Dr. Deaton-”

“Stiles,” Jackson grunted as he fisted her wrist in his palm, “you need to stretch.” and Jackson - the Jackson who was always glaring at her and speaking to her in a biting tone - was now forcing her through stretches while his jaw ticked in irritation. She’d normally leave it, just take the brunt of his anger and hope that it’d die down or that Lydia would distract him. Normally she’d do that, but her irritation at having her friends lie to her and the onset headache that was going to morph into a migraine was definitely pushing her over the edge. There was no point in asking him anything, especially when he didn’t seem to like her much. 

“Coach!” Jackson shoved away from her like she’d burned him. “Gotta go to the Nurses office, ‘m starting to get a migraine.” 

“Oh, uh, McCall! Go with her," the trek back to the nurse's office was quiet between the two but she was grateful for it. 

“I’ll uh, see you at work, maybe?” was all he offered before he left her alone and turned the lights off before she could ask. 

_ Almost as if they’d done this before. _


	2. Chapter 2

“Stiles, this is the third time I’ve had to pick you up from school this week. What’s goin’ on kid?” he was concerned, she knew he was, but was he concerned because of her health or because she would get more memories and  _ know _ he was lying? 

“Just headaches, dad.” and restless dreams that revolved around a man with eyes like ice against the heat of flames that licked at her limbs.

“You can’t try to force your memories back, Stiles. The doc said they have to come on their own.”

“Is there something I’d be trying to remember, dad?” it came out clipped and with an unsaid accusation that left them in silence for a moment. Normally she would apologize, but not this time. Not when he continued to lie to her about something she clearly had been a part of, not when he had no reason to - or at least not a reason Stiles could find. “No? Then I guess I’m not trying to remember anything.” 

“Stiles-” he tries, but it’s unfortunate for him that they are in their driveway because she’s leaving the car before he can get anything else out. 

She couldn’t remember ever being this angry at her father, couldn’t bring up a single time she’d actually given him the silent treatment even. This was different though, this was him keeping a part of her hidden, a part she wanted - needed - to remember so she could be whole again. 

Even if it had been a traumatic memory, if they were memories that had changed her in some way, then she wasn’t truly herself, meaning whoever she was now wasn’t real.  _ This _ Stiles was a fake creation made during her wreck to protect her brain as it swelled. 

As his cop car pulled out of the driveway it occurred to her how strange it was for a sound to be able to make a place feel so lonely. This Stiles would normally study, do her homework, take a shower and call Lydia to see if she had any plans for the night. What would the real Stiles do? How different was she from who she was today? How different were their schedules? What was so different between the two that had so many people keeping secrets from her? 

Why was she suddenly jealous of the person she used to be? 

“Fuck this,” she mumbled and drew her cell as she marched up the steps, searching through her contacts for a number that hadn’t been used since her accident or a contact she had no recent communication with. She didn’t find anything at first, but her gut said to look further, that she was just scratching the surface. 

Her father was a cop, a Sheriff, if he was truly hiding something from her then he would get rid of the contacts in her phone and any evidence. A half-hour later she had her phone connected to her computer and found that she had backup versions of her phone saved. 

Heartbreakingly there were three contacts that had been deleted, two of which were contacted frequently. Scott McCall - Scotty - and strangely enough  _ Beacon Hills LTCF _ , a number she had dialed the night before her accident. With a hesitation lasting only a second she dialed the number and waited, body tense. 

“Beacon Hills Long Term Care Facility, this is Jennifer speaking how may I assist you today?”

“Uhm, yes, my name is -” 

“Ms. Stiles!” Jennifer gushed, relief oozing from her lips. “Oh, we’ve been so worried about you! We saw your wreck on the news, poor Mr. Hale has taken a turn for the worst too! Oh, he’ll be so relieved to know you’ve remembered him, should we expect you by tonight?” 

Mr. hale.. Hale? The name was vaguely familiar and caused a small ache to form behind her eyes, but it rang a bell. Jennifer, also, seemed to know her. Knew her just by the tone of her voice, even, and seemed to know her quite well. 

“Yes, I haven’t remembered a lot, but Peter-” she opted for partial honesty and surprised herself with the revelation of the first name of Mr. Hale - and the pang of pain that remembrance brought.

“No need to explain, I understand completely. I’ll let our aides know and have one of them drop by Mr. Hale’s room right now to let him know you’ll be dropping by.” Stiles hung up after a few more words with Jennifer and confirming that this woman, a CNA at Beacon Hills LTCF knew STiles and that STiles dropped by often enough for nurses and aides to know her and worry about her. 

Her only problem was that it was Friday, Lydia would definitely be screwing Jackson right now. Not that she would be all that comfortable with getting a ride from her right now, she didn’t think she’d be able to take it if Lydia took her there and still lied to her. 

So, she called up the one person she didn’t actively suspect of lying to her and teetered in the door frame of her room. “Hello my sucky Noob Saibot playing friend,” his greeting itself had her feeling slightly better, “what can magic Danny do for you this fine evening?” 

“Can you play taxi with me? I can even pay you, but its Friday and-” 

“And Lydia and Jax are screwing, yeah I got it. You need to be picked up and dropped off?” she adored Danny, she really did. 

“Just drop off, for now, if it’s not too far from home I’ll just walk back.” he hummed, told her he’d be there in five and hung up. True to his word at the five minute mark he was pulling up into her parking lot and grinning cheekily at her nervous twiddling on her porch. When she told him the address he didn’t even hesitate to punch it into the gps, most likely suspecting she was going to visit her grandad-

Her grandad! The jackass she took her namesake from, the one who didn’t like her when he remembered her. The one she was remembering only just now - good god had she truly taken his nickname ‘Stiles’ just to spite him?

“Thanks, Danny, I’ll be able to walk it home. If it’s not too dark I might even jog.” he grinned and saluted her before driving off, dropping a text that, should she change her mind, he’d be more than willing to come pick her up just so she stayed safe. 

“Stiles!” a vaguely familiar red head greeted her with a sob and a too-tight hug. “Oh god, you really are okay! Oh, we were all worried sick! I swear Peter wouldn’t eat anything for the first week, he heard about your wreck over the news the same time we did. Poor thing, he declined after that-” she babbled, gentle hands touching her face and arms as if to make sure she was really there. “Jo and Mike are getting him up right now, his eyes shot so wide when we said you were coming-” 

“Mike, that’s… that’s the nurse that replaced the other one, the woman.” a kind, younger man who offered her a bandaid from his wallet when she hurt… something.

“Yes! Oh, come on, I want to see his face!” she dragged Stiles down the hall, passed people who greeted her as if they were friends, and stopped right outside a room where people were already gathering around. It was unprofessional, and also worrying - and flattering if she were honest with herself. What kind of person was Peter that she visited him so often that the staff - a staff who rotate - knew her so well? 

Peter, she surmised as she entered through the throng of people to stare into the room at the man sat up in his wheelchair, was sea blue. He was older than her, way older, and half of his face was covered in scars that suggested that half of his body were similarly covered, but she  _ knew him _ and he was  _ sea blue- _

“Peter,” she whimpered as her purse slid off of her arm and plopped right on the floor, “Peter.” She saw a nineteen-year-old Peter shoo her away and call her a duckling when she followed after him anyway. “Peter,” her fingers barely grazed over his cheekbones before she was seeing a twenty-year-old Peter lifting her up as if she were his workout weights, grinning each time she giggled. She didn’t realize she was kneeling in front of him and crying until she was kneeling and digging her knee painfully into the legs of the wheelchair foot braces. 

He didn’t respond, he didn’t move, but his eyes followed her. Sea blue eyes that radiated heat, longing, and anger. Eyes that went straight from hers to look over her face before they finally settled on her forehead, onto the scar she got from cracking her skull against her door - allegedly. 

If what she had remembered had happened actually happened then there had been no door for her to crack her head against. Which meant something else had happened, something to do with that creature. 

“I don’t remember everything yet.” she told him honestly, “but I will. Everyone is lying to me, I was there when it happened and now I know that as a fact.” she caressed his jaw, “you are my proof.” there she sat for twenty minutes, just touching him and trying to sort where these memories now fit. 

As she left and promised to stop by again she knew three things to be true. The first; she had been in a house fire, she’d been in  _ the  _ house fire, the one that eleven people had perished in. The second; she had known the Hales, she had been around their home when she was young, before her mother passed, and they had known her. The third; her father, Lydia, Jackson, Scott, and Deaton were all lying to her or keeping secrets from her. Deaton had to know she knew the Hales, there she didn’t know how she knew he did, but he did. Lydia had blatantly lied to her face, so had her father. 

Jackson, too, knew the truth and was keeping it from her. He, at least, wasn’t pretending to be her friend. She didn’t have to pretend like he was hurting her feelings too much, she hadn’t expected much out of him to begin with. 

She could attempt to avoid them all, which was her preferred route, or she could confront them and make an even bigger mess out of the entire situation. No, she had to deal with this subtly, or at least in a way that didn’t make her seem even more psycho than usual. 

So, the first thing she did the next day was lace up her boots - ones she never remembered buying but had - and decided to jog the road she had crashed at. Hoping it would help her recover certain memories, if not give her a little more insight to the ‘memory’ she had. 

It hadn’t occurred to her how far it was from her home, not that it mattered since she managed to travel the distance with little to no trouble. It kind of amazed her since she was barely out of breath and could barely feel the burn in her calves and stomach. 

Not that her sudden physicality stuck in her mind when she actually looked on at the place where she had very nearly died. It looked cleaned up, for the most part. There weren’t any more parts of her beloved Roscoe hiding in the grass or shrubbery like an easter egg, begging to be found. That didn’t mean they could do anything about the tree her door had been victim to, nor the way another, slightly older tree rest with most of its roots up and out of the soil from where she had drove engine first into the blasted thing. 

They couldn’t get rid of the way her tires dug trenches into the earth, or the skidmark from her tires on the road. It was funny, almost, how even though she didn’t remember the wreck fully she could pick out each little thing that had been an effect of her crash. 

One tree still had a hint of blue paint hiding between its bark, as if it were a keepsake. Off to the left, hiding in the shade provided by the bush lay a mechanical pencil, shredded bits of soggy paper that might’ve once contained notes lay around it.

She jumped in a panic when a car horn sounded and dodged into the tree line to avoid said car… that was nowhere to be seen. At once a cold wind swept down her spine and a dozen pair of eyes zeroed in on her. The forest grew darker until, as she now faced completely behind her, it stood with a stagnant pitch blackness that hid those watching her. 

_ Never show your back to a predator. _ She wasn’t sure if whatever was watching her was a predator, but she sure felt like prey at that moment, so she took everything she had and slowly backed up towards the tree line where she had once been standing. 

She never broke the treeline, her feet never touched asphalt no matter how far she backed up, light never pierced the wall of shadows slowly inching in on her. Dread and a very real fear curled in her gut like an old friend and slowly grew and grew until she was taking panicked, shallow breaths. 

_ Run,  _ the voice that sounded encouragingly like her said. She couldn’t actually  _ do _ that though, not when her joints were freezing up with her cold terror.  _ Run. _ Can’t.

_ Run you idiot! _ The shadows were pressing closer, now close enough to where her body heat got sucked into the void and left her shivering with goose flesh sprung down her arms. 

_ “Stiles, run!”  _ That voice was not hers, that voice was very, very male and slightly familiar. It shocked her out of her body lock, but not quick enough to dodge the whisps of shadow that lurched forward at her. Thankfully whoever had called her name had also gotten within range and had yanked her backwards, away from the darkness. 

The moment she registered the heat of his hand at her arm did the forest vanish and she stood in the middle of the road, standing behind the vet clinic she worked at with Sott and Dr. Deaton. She didn’t get to question the sudden teleportation before he was dragging her into the clinic and slamming the door shut behind them. 

“What-” she gaped, realizing only just now that she had been holding her arms so tight her nails and dug into her skin and left crescent shapes. “What-” god she was cold. 

“Why didn’t you run?!” he shouted at her, “What were you even doing out in the middle of the road, Stiles?” he ran his hands through his hair and took calming breaths when he saw that she wasn’t responding and, in fact, looked a little blue. “Okay, okay. C’mere,” she walked into his arms and let out a shuddering breath when his body heat sank into her cold skin. “Sorry, sorry I yelled.” he apologized and ran his hands up her back, hissing at how cold her skin felt. “You freaking scared me, dude.” 

“S-sorry.” Jesus, how did she get so cold so quick? It was like she’d been dumped in a pool of ice in the middle of winter! “Wh-hat was that?” 

“It’s an apparition, or a curse, I don’t know.” he admitted, then - “what were you doing out there, Stiles?” 

“Trying to remember,” she answered once her teeth finally stopped clacking together and her shivers had subsided. “I remembered part of my wreck, I remembered the thing that was chasing me.” he’d either believe her and fess up or think she was crazy and continue to lie. Either way she would know how to be around him from here on out, so much for a subtly laid plan. 

“Okay,” he sighed and eyed her over. “Alright, uh, come with me. This is probably a conversation we should have when you’re not in the same distance as sharp throwable objects.” did she - no,  _ was _ she prone to violent bursts like that? Was that the kind of person she had been that Scott -  _ Scotty _ \- had to worry about his physical well being with her around?

“Okay, do you remember that we were friends?” his crestfallen face after she shook her head made actual tears of regret form. “Okay, well, we’ve been friends forever, since diapers. Your mom and my mom used to joke that we would get married and they’d be able to say they made it happen.” his shiver of disgust matched the one she did instinctually. “We were twelve when I got bit in the woods-”

“We were playing Peter Pan, only we were both running away. You from your dad and me ‘cause mom had just died.” the hope lighting up his eyes shouldn’t have hurt as it had. “We were near the old Hale house, it was supposedly haunted-”  _ Howls sounded every now and then from the old house, too many police calls had been placed - there were no wolves in Cali, had to be teens making a joke. No footprints, no liter, nothing that would suggest so. People joked about it being haunted, said that it was only natural with the way eleven people died there. Stiles knew the truth, she visited every chance she got when her dad was busy and her mom was tired, she’d walk the burnt halls,  _ **_remembering_ ** -

“Peter.” Scott didn’t make it to her side fast enough to catch her before she fell like a rag doll to the ground, but Alan Deaton did. He heard the name she had muttered before succumbing to the pain in her skull - a pain that had Scott wincing as he drained it. He listened intently as Scott explained everything to him, from how he found her in the middle of the road to how she was remembering things at a rapid pace. 

Too rapid, he suspected, or maybe just rapid enough for the darkness that was approaching. If it were the latter then he pitied those that would be lost and hoped that Stilinski would be enough. 

“Scott, what’s your assessment of the thing in the woods?” 

“I’m not sure, Stiles was always the one who figured this stuff out,” he admitted as Deaton gently positioned her on his operating table. “She thought it was some kind of apparition of revenge, she was going to test another theory out the night she was attacked. What I could translate from her notes was that she thought the recent attacks and the growing strength of the apparition were unrelated. Seeing her earlier…” 

“Scott?” Deaton was not fond of the look that settled over his protege’s face right then. 

“Sorry Dr. Deaton,” was his sheepish reply, “Uh, Stiles was walking backward, away from the woods, right into the road. I called for her but she didn’t hear me, couldn’t. When I got closer I saw  _ it _ in the shadows, dozens of eyes in red, blue, and orange hue. I told her to run, but she wouldn’t, when I got close enough and yelled at her to run again I saw that her eyes were pitch black. When I pulled her away all the eyes vanished and she went from super hot to super cold.” 

“Immediately or over a few seconds?” he asked as he began checking behind her ears. 

  
“Immediately. When I touched her it was almost like she was on fire, then like ice.” he watched with growing worry as Deaton moved from her ears to her wrists and, finally, her ribcage. “What? What are you looking for?” 

“There’s nothing there,” Deaton conceded, brows drawn. “Scott, do you remember ever seeing a mark on her back? Or her legs?” when he replied in the negative Deaton’s brows furrowed further. “Does she ever keep one place covered up all the time? Or keep it hidden?” 

“I don’t know. Dr. Deaton what’s this about?” he didn’t like the way Deaton was currently looking at his best friend, as if he didn’t quite trust her or believe that she was really there. 

“Stiles Stilinski has a scar on her back, near the right shoulder, from where she was involved in the Hale House fire.” He’s seen Stiles shirtless, as gross as that was, seen her in tank tops and in swimsuits. He’d never, not once since he could remember, seen a scar on her back. 

“So, what’re you saying? That this isn’t really Stiles? I’ve been with her since we were kids, Dr. Deaton, I  _ know _ Stiles.” Deaton looked up at that, more concerned than ever. 

“I believe you, which leaves us with two explanations on why it is not there.” He knew for a fact that she had been wounded, that it would heal to scar, he’d attended to it himself. “The first option is that her Spark saw it as an infection and healed it.” Which could prove to be either potentially dangerous or helpful to the young Ms. Stilinski. “The second is a bit more dramatic.” he sighed as he looked over Stiles and felt regret curl in his gut. “Something happened that night that no one is yet aware of, something she is still quite in the middle of.” there was a moment of silence as he tried to think of what the most likely scenario was. 

If Stiles were truly as important as she seemed to be for the future of Beacon Hills then, more than likely, it was both. Either way they were woefully unprepared. “Is the Sheriff still forbidding anyone from telling her the truth?” 

“Yeah, even Mom isn’t supposed to talk to her about anything unless she-” he stopped and his eyes went wide as realization dawned on him. “-unless Stiles asks her about it first.” meaning she would be able to approach his mother and she could tell Stiles everything - it wasn’t like Jeorek could control Melissa or what she did. If his mother deemed Stiles healthy enough to know the truth then-

“Scott, a piece of advice? This Stiles is just as real as the one you knew, when she remembers - when they merge-” he hesitated to look down at the young woman he once knew, “give her time. Be there for her if she wants you there, but allow her the opportunity to acquaint herself  _ with _ herself again.” 

“Stiles will be fine,” for some reason it felt more like reassurance for Deaton, “I’ve seen her resist a Vampire’s compulsion, this - this is nothing.” he wished he felt as confident as he wanted to saying that but the truth was he wasn’t as confident as he could be. He always worried about the outcome, made headstrong decisions that seemed the safest, and would second guess every decision and think of their possible repercussions and who they could hurt. 

Stiles had once told him that he was plenty confident in his thinking, that second-guessing wasn’t something to be ashamed of, that he was what kept her grounded because, at times, she  _ didn’t _ think of the repercussions of some of her decisions. 

He missed his friend, his sister. 

“Should I call her father to come pick her up?” 

“No!” he winced apologetically at the shout he gave. “Sorry, I’ll uh - I’ll take her home. She’s still in her jogging clothes, I’ll just… make something up.” he felt the ball of unease that had been growing in his chest slowly untangle as he shifted his sleeping friend in his arms. Being close to her in school had been enough to keep him from going completely mental, as was his pack bond with his mother, but to go from having someone in your life almost everyday to hardly at all? 

“Scott,” Jeorek greeted with lips pressed thinly in worry at the sight of his daughter in Scott’s arms. “Come on in.” he was angry, and worried, and sad and a million other emotions that almost overpowered Scott’s nose. “Is she remembering?” 

“I don’t know,” he lied, “She was jogging through the Preserve, made it all the way to the clinic.” John followed him up the stairs as he made his way to her room, “Her body is remembering, at least.” her dad did not look relieved at this bit of information. “Would it be so bad that she remembers?” John looked up from his daughter and glared. 

“She put her life in danger  _ every day _ , Scott,  _ every day _ . She has a normal life now, she has friends-” 

  
“She had friends before too!” Scott interrupted, “She wasn’t popular but her, Boyd and I hung out  _ all _ the time.” John sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as Scott laid her on her bed. 

“I know, son. It’s not fair to you, but Stiles deserves to have a normal life,” he said nothing more till they were downstairs, standing awkwardly in the kitchen. “She deserves the chance to have a life where she’s not constantly involved in the supernatural. She’s been involved in this world since she was little, Scott.” 

“Stiles was always going to be in the supernatural world,” Scott admitted, believing that statement to be 100% true. “I don’t think there was ever a chance of her  _ not _ being involved somehow.” John grimaced and bowed his head, knowing deep inside that it was true but hating it with every fiber of his being. His daughter had grown up too fast, she had to face one too many life and death situations and it had changed her in ways he regretted not being there for. 

All he could see when he closed his eyes anymore was the sight of his daughter, pale and unresponsive, being dragged from the scrap that was Roscoe and bundled into the Ambulance. He could’ve lost her and the last thing they had said to one another was words of anger. It wasn’t the first time he saw his daughter hurt, but it was the first time he had to see her dying. 

If those memories stayed gone then she wouldn’t have to face that situation again. He was Sheriff, he could protect her,  _ he would protect her. _

“Scott, I think it's time you went home.” it was the steel resolve in his scent that had Scott deflating. Though he missed her greatly John was firm in his decision to keep her in the dark. Stiles was remembering and the reveal would cause a massive blow up, she would have to continue to remember alone.


End file.
